


The Alabaster Sky

by angelsfallingdeancatch



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Apocalypse, Badass Malia, Badass Scott, F/F, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Lydia Martin, POV Malia, POV Malia Tate, POV Scott McCall, Polyamory, The power of friendship, Threesome - F/F/M, badass lydia, not sure about Stiles yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-09 11:38:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8889316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsfallingdeancatch/pseuds/angelsfallingdeancatch
Summary: Malia was young when everything ended. The power went out after a few weeks, the food in the kitchen didn't even last her family that long. Now, she just wanted revenge. And to forget.Scott was searching for Stiles. He had to find him, had too. He was all he had left. Lydia had lost everything. Sheltered even in the end of the world, she left her settlement after an attempted forced marriage between her and the leader. She finds that things are more exciting outside the walls. But how will they fair against The Souls?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> POV Malia.

Malia peered around the corner of the building, its paint curled with age, almost no color left to it but the specks of teal. She inhaled sharply, bringing her head back against the wall and out of sight. She stared up at the sky, the blue becoming overshadowed with clouds, and clenched her hands into fists at her sides. The wind picked up and she wrangled her faded jean jacket so it wouldn’t fly away from her waist. 

Malia swept her hair up in a bun, fingers sliding through the dirt and grime, being careful not to snap the band. Her steel cold brown eyes canvassed her surroundings. A trashcan was solidified to the concrete, melting away against the weather and rust. The building she leaned against was an old church, she assumed, with the glass windows that had pictures. She didn’t know the stories that went along with them, only fleetingly wondered at them before kicking off the wall and crouching. Her sweatpants had deep tears and stains, and barely fit her, drooping off her hips. Malia pulled her rope belt tighter and began to glide past the angel cast in blue, gazing down at her with arms wide open.

A man was up ahead of her, by the general store. The lettering had mostly fallen from their hinges, leaving only the end of ‘store’ hanging on. He had black hair, a red checkered shirt that flapped in the wind. He rubbed at the back of his neck and dropped his arm, a black tattoo barely visible before the sleeve covered it up. The man’s back was to her and she was quiet. He seemed clean, which made her pause. She didn’t know people took the time to wash their clothes anymore, not with the chance of being caught without them. 

He was also alone. She had watched him search buildings; come out mostly empty handed, backpack heavy on his shoulders. The Souls didn’t leave things behind. They looted, scavenged, took things that weren’t needed anymore, relics of an archaic age. The Souls usually weren’t alone, either, but Malia had come across lone roamers from time to time. 

The man bent down to tie his shoes as Malia crept up to him, stray strands of hair tickling the back of her neck. She knocked him on his ass with a swing of her fist, knife clamped in the other, knuckles white and bruised. 

He was her age, which didn’t mean much. Lots of kids grew up to be barely passable adults, scraping by to survive or, if they were lucky, had someone looking out for them. His brown eyes were wide, locked on her weapon. 

“Hey, woah!” he said, his hands raised defensively, crossing his body. He didn’t go for the gun in his pack. Whether he was smart enough not to try it, or dumb enough to freeze up, she didn’t care to know. 

“You with them?” Malia prodded, menacing him with the knife, her eyes cold and sharp. He stared at her, took in her face, and then glanced back at the knife. 

“Who? I mean, no, I’m alone,” he said through chapped lips, face now covered in dust. 

Malia bit her lip, similarly split, and was honestly disappointed it wasn’t one of The Souls. She was wasting time, hunting the wrong people, and she was impatient. 

“You see any Souls?” she pressed, knife pointed at his neck. 

“What?” he stammered, hesitating before slowly raising one hand towards her and said, “can I help you find whatever it is?”

Malia avoided his hand and stood up, putting her knife back in its faded red holster on her hip. She turned away from the man and ran to her left, back where she came. She scowled, unhappy that she’d have to go back to camp and deal with that woman again. She come up to the church and the angel was judging her more harshly now, moss covered eyes on her as she passed by. 

“Wait!” called the man, still on the ground where she had left him, “come back!”

She didn’t turn around.


	2. Chapter 2

This work isn't orphaned, just working on something else right now!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading everyone! If you liked it, leave me a comment!


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